


Dragon Age: Isolation

by Lord_Winterman



Series: The Apocalyptian Saga [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anders is depressed, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 09:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Winterman/pseuds/Lord_Winterman
Summary: Following the Kirkwall Rebellion, mage-terrorist Anders watches as the mages and Templars clash against each other, reflecting on what has happened and what is to come.





	1. Symbiosis

_“Revenge is a poison, an acid for the soul. You can call it anything, paint it any way you like. Call it justice, paying evil unto evil; in the end, the result is the same. It will dissolve you, burn you out of purpose and place. And should you survive, endure the poison's course, you will find that you traded everything else for momentary self-satisfaction.” _\-- Inzekon

The camp was set abuzz when Marscius’ team arrived. It had been ages since he had visited the Dalish. Only the oldest, those with long memoires could remember the occasion, but here he was; him and his team approaching the center of the encampment.

Hearing the uproar, the Keeper emerged from his aravel.

“Welcome, brothers and sisters,” he said. “What news do you bring?”

“Our vigil has been completed.”

Nodding, the Keeper turned to his First. “Send word to Mhadek. We require an audience with him.”

The young elf sprinted off to attend to his business. Everyone began chattering among themselves. Others returned to their previous tasks, but with a spring in their step.

“Well, well,” someone said.

Emerging from the treeline, a group of humans stalked through the camp, brandishing their weapons. In the midst of the jubilation, the intruders had breached the perimeter unopposed. Quickly recovering, the Dailish eyed the shemlen angrily, hands on their weapons. There were only a few of them, but it would not do to rush things.

“Why do you disturb the peace?” The Keeper demanded.

“You knife-ears have no business here,” the leader said, stepping forward.

“As you can see, we are Dalish. Neither do we have any intention of remaining here for long.”

The human laughed as he eyed the elves surrounding him and his friends.

“You don’t get it,” he said. “You even coming near here was a mistake. Boys!”

His men raised their weapons, preparing to fight.

“No more foolishness,” a voice boomed.

A wall of power slammed into the humans, who found themselves paralyzed.

Striding between the aravels, another elf approached the arrested altercation with an outstretched hand. In the presence of this new elf, the Dalish kneeled. He carried himself with a regal bearing, almost gliding along the ground.

The new elf was tall, standing at a height with the humans. His clothes mimicked the colors of nature, earthen brown mingling with green like the leaves of trees. One aspect of his appearance stood out. His right eye was, in entirety, amber, glowing in what light was offered.

“Lord Mhadek,” The Keeper said.

Inclining his head to the Keeper, Mhadek turned to the humans.

“What business do you have with my people?” he demanded. “Oh, that’s right.” Snapping his fingers, he allowed the leader to speak. “Again,” he reiterated. “Why are you here bothering my people?”

“You knife-ears are like a plague,” the leader spat. “We were sent to get rid of you.”

Mhadek regarded the intruders with a sniff of disdain as he paced between them.

“Your belligerence and lack of foresight will be your undoing.”

“More of us are on the way. You can’t hope to win.”

"We will see." Mhadek looked over his shoulder. His cloak shuffling, five tree branches slithered out, each carrying a blade. Walking into the middle of the group, the branches unfurled, metal glinting in the firelight. A knot of wood grew out, sprouting off of the elf's shoulder. “Perseverence?”

A low rumbling shaped a reply._ “Yes?”_

“Let us show these shemlen the error of their ways.”

_“Gladly.”_

Flicking the blades out, a dozen shemlen heads fell to the dirt, followed shortly by the rest of them. Seeing that there were no other threats present, Mhadek retraced the branches, stowing them underneath his cloak, leaving one solitary branch stemming over his right shoulder. Finding a high branch, he flew up and addressed his people.

“Break camp,” he commanded. “We move within the hour.”

Marscius approached Mhadek and bowed.

“Lord Mhadek,” Marscius said. “I bring news.”

Mhadek regarded the scout. “Very well,” he replied. “Make your report.”


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with his success in the Kirkwall Rebellion, Anders has still lost

_"Revenge is a poison, an acid for the soul. You can call it anything, paint it any way you like. Call it justice, paying evil unto evil. In the end, the result is the same. It will dissolve you, burn you out of purpose and place. And should you survive, endure the poison's course, you will find that you traded everything else for momentary self-satisfaction." _\-- Inzekon

Isolation

_Southwestern Nevarra_

_The 4th of Nubulis, 9:38 Dragon_

Thunder echoed in the distance. To the untrained ear, it sounded chaotic, but to Anders it pulsed in a steady rhythm, like the beating of a drum. The sound of war raging, tearing up the countryside, here and many others like it across Thedas.

In the distance was the raining of magic, the twisting of the forces of nature to the whims of mortals. Men and women being struck down by arcane forces and steel in a clash that so many had feared would come. The fruits of his labors. The monument of his greatest of crimes as well as his noblest of acts.

An “inevitability” he, and so many others, had claimed. So many had hoped for a peaceful resolution. But living under the thumb of Templars for so long had caused so much enmity between them and their charges that such hopes were pitifully naïve.

He and Justice had tried fixing things, or at least, that was the intention. Stop the madness, free the Mages from the oppression of those told them that their very existence was sinful. But even the best of intentions were warped by deeply seated anger and bitterness on his part, and it spread like a disease to his friend, twisting him into a force known as Vengeance. Their mission, their dream was doomed to failure before it had the chance to see the light of day.

“No more compromise,” he had said to his friend. One of the few people who had dared to trust him. Trust betrayed for the sake of his goals. A part of him wanted to blame the spirit, but it was as much a part of him as any limb; a soul fused with his own. Both of them equally to share the blame.

Justice was silent now. The anger that had relentlessly driven him so long had finally subsided. But he was not at peace. This was not the silence of tranquility. The silence gave him time to think. Time to dwell, to meditate on his mistakes, the blood shed by his actions, and war that was all but declared.

He remembered his fateful act. He remembered the anger from his friends, people who had tolerated his incessant preaching for so long. Hawke had every reason to execute him on the spot. Sebastian had even called for his head, but was denied, even with the threat of Starkhaven being raised against Kirkwall.

He wish he had been executed. Death would have been easier. Maybe that was why Hawke had spared him in the end.

Walking among the people, he expected to be disliked by the Mages, for altering their lives so thoroughly without their consent. He had not expected to be loathed, to be so thoroughly despised by his own kind. The moment someone realized who he was, it wasn’t long before they were driving him away.

So he watched from the distance as Mages and Templars clashed. One might say it was an even fight, but the Mages were slowly being slaughtered. The Templar Order had spent centuries learning to hunt their charges, quelling uprisings every now and then. Killing Mages was something they had become extremely efficient at.

Of course, neither side had ever challenged each other on such a scale. Pitched battles where thousands could be involved. Campaigns that were beginning to stretch long past the capacity of the resources either side possessed, both in manpower and supplies.

The Veil quivered, demons patiently waiting for their opportunity to strike, to seize a weakened Mage in the midst of bloody battle. To their credit, the Mages were holding up well, but their lines were beginning to falter, their methods of attack meant for range, not melees. Before long, the assembled Mages fractured, some fleeing into the woods, others retreated in the closest semblance of order they could. A few remained, the ones that were either incredibly stupid, extremely desperate, or supremely arrogant.

A screech echoed in the valley. The undeniable screams of a Mage being possessed against their will. The Templars hastened their offensive, but it was already too late. The monster reanimated the corpses that littered the battlefield, more joining the ranks with every pulse of its power.

Undaunted, the Templars clashed against the fallen, their enemies and brethren alike being used against them. Anders could not help but think how extraordinarily greedy the demon must have been, to take hold of a Mage in front of an army of Templars. It was certainly powerful, slaying the Mage-Killers in droves. But the physical capacities of its host was not enough to hold out against so many of them at once.

The demon’s arrival had the added benefit of giving the remaining Mages a head start, most clearing out of the valley before the Templars could put it down. Even though it was a clear victory for Templars, they elected not to pursue the Mages, not right away. Whether their victory really amounted to anything was going to be in question. The Mages had fled before them, but they were battered from their fight. Religious fervor could fuel their hunt for only so long.

Storms brewing on the horizon, Anders ventured into the valley as the Templars retreated to their camp. Bodies had been stacked and burned in haste. Arms and armor had been stripped, likely to be passed on to another batch of recruits as soon as possible. There were plenty of pious men and women ready to take up arms.

Blood soaked into the land. Grass was blackened, by fire and coagulation. Crows and buzzards began to gather, eager to feed on whatever the Templars had missed. Enduring the stench, Anders drew close to the blaze. The faces of the fallen vacantly stared out into nothingness.

Platitudes and prayers were not something that he had the heart to spew out. The Templars had probably done that already. He did feel guilt. If he had intervened, could he have prevented the demon from taking hold? Would the tide of battle turned to their favor?

So many questions, so little time. His Calling was likely to be upon him in the next few years, maybe even sooner. What had he really done with his time?

He had kept the clinic going in Kirkwall for a number of years, but he almost felt like dismissing it. The good he had done there was tainted by his deceptions that led to him destroying the Chantry.

There was time at Vigil’s Keep. He had done plenty there, scouring the Deep Roads of darkspawn, throwing back an assault.

Going to the Deep Roads early was certainly an option. He remembered the maps that had been plotted during Jarrod Cousland’s expeditions to the darkspawn territory. Maybe it would be fun, trudging through darkspawn until he found a stronghold, blasting it all to oblivion as his last act in this life. He was a Grey Warden, if not legally, then in spirit. Whether he wanted it that way or not.

It still felt like taking the easy way out, so he dismissed the idea. At least for now.

Taking up his staff, Anders began the hike back out of the valley. Rain was already beginning to fall. Mud flecked onto his robes and water seeped into his shoes. It did not register in Anders’ mind. What did however, were the two figures that stepped from the trees, throwing off their cloaks.

More Templars.

“Submit yourself to the will of the Maker,” one demanded.

Anders stared at the two young Templars who shook in his presence. A shameful display in front of a lone mage. He doubted that anyone could recognize him on sight. No, their fear had carried over from the battle. They were likely new recruits who had seen an abomination for the first time.

“Why?” Anders asked.

The Templars flinched at Anders’ monotone.

“You’re a mage,” the other Templar said, trying to sound confident. “It is our holy task to eliminate your kind.”

The two brandished their swords and charged.

Anders felt his consciousness fade to the back of his mind as Vengeance asserted his presence. Death would be preferable, but the spirit would not take it laying down. Anders watched as the spirit tore into the young Templars. It would have been a horrifying sight if it were not so dreadfully common. Bandits had taken to attacking the lone scraggly looking man in tattered robes, finding their attempted robbery turned on its head as their would-be victim destroyed them. This was simply a marginally positive alternative, and the only time he was certain that Justice was still there.

The damage done, Anders continued on with no one else the wiser to the presence of the instigator of their problems.

-¤¤-

Every day, it took a little more effort for Anders to force himself off the ground after he slept. Not that he slept that much, or that often, for that matter. His bones ached, and every day he felt slower, weaker. Justice was probably all that kept him going, so he did. Waking up, he would wander around, keeping away from the roads, avoiding encampments, scrounging enough food to keep him going for another couple of days or so. Find a relatively warm and dry place to sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Despite the absence of company, the crushing depression, and the potential of death hiding in every shadow, it was a rather relaxing experience. So far, he had not come close to any other person in over a week. At times, he was beginning to wonder if the world had emptied itself of all mortals.

“Hello, Anders,” someone said.

Anders stopped in his tracks, but betrayed no emotion, though that was more of a result that he was not emoting in the first place. He watched as a young person clambered out from the underbrush. His hair was scraggily and greasy.

“I don’t know you,” Anders said. “Leave me alone.”

The youth finished untangling himself from the bush he had been hiding in, falling unceremoniously on his rump.

“That’s no way to treat a comrade,” He complained. “Don’t you recognize me? From the mage underground back in Kirkwall?”

Anders studied his face. Black hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Slender build, narrow face with a sharp nose.

“Cutter?” Anders guessed.

“I knew you’d recognize me!”

_I really hadn’t. _“What are you doing?”

“Looking for food, mostly. Keeping an eye out for Templars or other shifty folk. But to think I’d run into you. It must be the Makers plan or some nonsense.”

It was only because of Anders predicament that he still acknowledged the Maker’s existence. Justice had occasionally told stories, passed along by other spirits who remembered their creation.

“You and Hawke were a great boon to our cause, and then the next thing we know, you’ve both disappeared. What happened to you both?”

_We left, _Anders thought. Hawke and everyone else closely associated with him had all left, hoping to spare Kirkwall the wrath of the Templars.

“We...went into hiding,” he eventually replied.

“I’ll say,” Cutter remarked. “It’s been ages since we heard any sort of rumor regarding you. We were expecting some rallying cry from one or both of you, to keep the good fight going. Right now we’re just scattered, every Circle working independently of each other, hardly any cooperation. That’s no way to fight a war, is it? But with you here, we can get everyone to organize a proper warfront.”

“We?”

“You, me, and the others. We’ve been hiding since this whole mess started, making the occasional raid before relocating. Found some others, both from Kirkwall and the others Circles nearby.”

He started off in a direction, then stopped and turned around.

“Aren’t you coming?” Cutter asked.

With a sigh, Anders followed the lad along an almost invisible path. He vaguely remembered seeing him when he first arrived in Kirkwall. If Cutter was indeed who he said he was, he had managed to live through the final days of Meredith’s reign as Knight-Commander and acting-Viscount and the Kirkwall Rebellion. A feat that few could truly claim. And he recognized Anders from the Underground, so he had to have been a new addition before everything went up in flames, as Anders took care to memorize the names and faces of the people he worked with, both for security and the human element. How Cutter had survived such ordeals with no psychological signs was almost enviable.

Weaving through a collection of underbrush, Cutter began stalking quietly, eyeing the shadows, beckoning Anders to do the same. When he finally arrived, he whistled into his hands. The melody was answered by harmony, prompting them forward. The sentry inclined his head as they passed, just barely noticeable in his hiding place.

“Just stay calm, and I’ll make sure everyone’s cheering for you by the end of it.”

_Fat chance of that ever happening,_ Anders thought, bitterly.

Entering the hideout, Anders noted the lack of resources. There were some knapsacks and other bedding, but nowhere near enough for the dozens of people present. What’s more, many of them were young, old, or otherwise looked unfit for battle of any sort.

“Hey, sis!” Cutter announced. “I found a familiar someone.”

The mage in question turned around, clearly not Cutter’s sister, looking almost nothing like him. She was a fair bit darker than everyone else in the cave; possibly from Rivain or Antiva. Her nose was small and her cheekbones rode high, and her brows low. If her robes were anything to go be, she had been a Senior Enchanter. Her face quickly sorted into a scowl when she laid eyes on Anders.

“What’s he doing here?!” She demanded.

“He’s Anders, the-“

“I know who he is, Cutter. _What_ he is. I was asking what he was doing here. With us.”

“Huh?”

“Get rid of him.”

“But sis, he’s one of the Heroes of Kirkwall!”

“If you had brought us the Champion, I would have been beyond grateful. I won’t have anything to do with an abomination, no matter who he was friends with.”

Cutter looked like he had been slapped, before sputtering out meek “what”.

“This is his fault! We were just fine before _he_ decided to blow up a Chantry.”

“’Just fine’ would not cut it anymore!” Anders barked. “If I hadn’t done anything, it would not have been long before every Mage in every Circle on the continent would have been made tranquil!”

“Bollocks!” Pel bit back. “You have no proof for your insinuations.”

“I had evidence of a movement that, while halted, was not completely stamped out. It was called the Tranquil Solution. I see that you don’t believe me. That’s fine. But it still comes down to the fact that we were barely tolerated to begin with. How long should I have waited to start a revolution? How long until the Devine, the First Seeker, and the Knight-Vigilant all agreed that they needed to suppress us? After they had finished weakening us?”

“The Templars were nice and lazy before you decided to muck things up. We could get people out with some trouble, and things were stable. Now we’re fighting for our lives, hoping that they don’t come down on us all hours.”

“So you’d prefer submission to freedom, to a hopeful tomorrow?”

“I am interested in our survival.”

“We were NOT surviving. It was a slow death, and it would have taken decades, but in the end, we would be little more than drooling, blindly obedient slaves.”

“Silence!”

One of the other mages stood up. “What’s the problem, Pel?” he asked.

“You’ve all heard about the destructing of the Kirkwall Chantry, yes?” she replied. Seeing nods, she continued. “This man is the one responsible. Not only that, but he did so while under the influence of a demon.”

Anders felt Vengeance growling at the misnomer.

“This…man standing before us is an Abomination.” Pel continued. “Furthermore, he is the root cause for our predicament. Would you deny that, Anders?”

“I deny nothing except that Justice is no demon,” Anders answered. “He is a spirit with as much moral ambiguity as any other mortal.”

He regretted saying that when, instead of listening to his explanation, nearly everyone backed away from him. If Pel had any decree in regards to Anders, it was interrupted when another mage came running into the room with the sentry.

“We have Templars coming off the road!” she panted.

“Calm down,” Pel ordered. “Did they look like they had spotted you?”

“I don’t think so, but they split in our direction.”

Pel swore under her breath. “Everyone, douse the lights and prepare for combat. Anyone not fit for fighting, head for the escape tunnels. Amelia, Daveth, you go with them. And take two more with you; send word if you run into trouble.” Pel then turned to Anders. “We’ll finish our discussion later.”

Anders nodded, tightly gripping his staff.

“If you need me to, I can draw them off,” he offered.

“I will not trust the defense of our retreat to one man, especially not an Abomination.”

“So you’ve already given up,” Anders was disappointed, but not surprised.

Pel sneered at him. “Not yet. Cutter, Liam, make sure he doesn’t leave your sight. Put him down if he so much as looks at you funny.”

With a huff, Pel stormed off to spread further instructions. Regardless of her attitude, Anders had at least established a measure of respect for her command authority. Her determination was probably what saw her promotion to whatever position she had held in the Circle.

“Sorry about that,” Cutter said. “She’s not usually like that.”

“Don’t be,” Anders replied.

“I swear that ever since she was made senior enchanter, her head swelled like crazy.”

“Cutter, stop chatting with the Abomination,” Liam hissed.

“What are you talking about? Anders is fine.”

Someone shushed them from across the cave. In utter silence, they could hear the stomping of Templar boots, first clustered together, then splitting apart, cautiously advancing.

_They have a phylactery, _Anders thought. That was the only way they could be tracked this accurately. _Unless someone revealed their location, or they weren’t as good at hiding themselves as they thought. _He could not make up his mind as to which was worse. Justice stirred, anticipating the clash, shifting to his Vengeance persona when steps began to echo down the cave entrance. Anders hoped that they had not found the other entrance; not with the non-combatants running straight for it.

“Here they come,” Cutter whispered.

The first Templar entering the cave receive a stone fist to the face, a quick kill that prompted his allies to protect themselves against, having their shields raised the moment they stepped into view.

Spells pelted the enemy defensive line, skipping harmlessly over their shields as they inched forward. The mages continued to send salvo after salvo. Archers stalked out behind them, firing arrows at the mages, who had not properly prepared to defend themselves from such an attack. Hiding behind the advancing shield line, they took potshots at the defenders, ducking down when another spell came their way.

“Quit wasting your energy on them directly,” Anders shouted. He showed them what he meant by hitting the ceiling with an earth-shattering spell, bringing it down on top of the enemy. The archers responded by shifting their fire towards what they perceived as the greater threat, letting their brethren continue their advance with far less danger.

Anders clung to the stone, flinging backhanded spells in hopes to disrupt their suppression. Pel continued to bark orders, but was clearly on the verge of panic.

“We can’t-“ a mage began to say, but her words were cut off by an arrow to the throat. The dwindling number of mages inched away from the Templars as their magic-cancelling aura sapped their powers.

Taking a deep breath, Anders stepped from cover, arrows glancing off an invisible barrier. Blue lines cracked the surface of Anders’ skin, his eyes turning the same color as he stared down the Templars.

“Oh, sod.” One of them muttered.

**“You will not harm any of them!” **Justice declared, distorting his host’s voice to the point of being unrecognizable. Slamming his staff down, mind blasting his opponents. Even with their impressive mental resistance, the Templars were still debilitated, and that was enough for a virulent bomb to thin their ranks. Pointing his staff at the survivors, lightning streamed out, cutting through their enchanted armor like butter flung into an oven. Bolts enveloped them, frying them inside their armor despite them warding the spell.

The Templars’ advance came to a grinding halt in the face of unparalleled power. There was no resistance they could mount that would be sufficient to hold an enraged spirit of Vengeance’s caliber at bay while he and his host were at full power. Their lines began to falter as those of weaker spirits and piety broke and ran, abandoning their comrades and urging others to do the same.

Vengeance was not finished, blasting what remained of the cave’s ceiling out and flying through. Breaking the boulders down to manageable size, he swept the pieces around him into a whirlwind as he zeroed in on the retreating enemy. Flying to an appropriate altitude, he rained the projectiles on them at such a velocity that their armor made little difference. Once all motion below him ceased, Vengeance lowered himself to the ground and let Anders resume control of his body.

Before him was a path of rent armor and flesh. Not one of the bodies stirred, Vengeance’s efficiency made abundantly clear. Cutter and Liam came running up to him, the latter aiming his staff at him.

“What was that?” he asked, flabbergasted at the scene.

“That,” said Pel, “was the work of an abomination.” The woman led the surviving mages in a loose formation, anticipating another fight. “Your very presence is a threat, Anders. We should put you down.”

“But you won’t.”

Looking at the carnage, Pel swallowed and locked eyes with Anders.

“I have no clue what your game was or currently is,” she said. “I will not let even the possibility of you losing control endanger us.”

“But-“

“Enough, Cutter!” Pel barked. “You’ve done enough damage as it is. If I thought you competent enough to engineer this, I would be sending you with him, or executing you myself.”

Cutter blanched and stepped back, rejoining his fellows and avoiding eye contact with Anders and Pel. Some of the mages present looked like they wanted his help, to have more strength on their side, but none of them were brave enough to counterbalance the fear that was entrenched in their camp._ Not at all surprising, _Anders thought_._

“Leave! Us!” she bellowed.

Solemnly, Anders departed. They would understand someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 16-OCT-2019


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering times long ago, Anders encounters another faction of mages.

Once again, Anders found himself on a lonely road to nowhere in particular. It was an absurdly rainy season, but on the bright side, it was general a pleasantly warm temperature, and there was no shortage of shelter. He found himself a camp that had been abandoned in haste, with plenty of amenities left behind, such as blankets and dried meats.

Settling in for the night, he wrapped himself in several blankets and stared at the wall all night, falling into a deep trance as his memories played themselves over again, starting at the beginning of his recollections

His name. Not the one that he had been called by since his time in the Circle, but the one his mother and father had given him, something he scarcely remembered himself. His family was not particularly wealthy, working on a farm in the Anderfels. It was there that he first exhibited magic, the day his father’s eyes turned fearful, lamenting the “punishment” for his sins and swiftly calling for the Templars, who came and clapped cuffs onto him. After that, it several wagons and a boat ride to Fereldan, where he spent his growing years in Kinloch Hold, the local Circle.

His time in the tower was not remarkable pleasant. His ire was expressed in the form of low-key pranks. He said little, and few knew anything more than that he was from the Anderfels, and so, called him Anders. When had finally come around to opening up to what few friends he had made, the name had already stuck, and he did not bother trying to correct them. It helped him distance himself from the negative memories of his family.

Escape attempt number one was roughly six months after he had arrived, a warm summer day, though that was hardly relevant, given the manner in which had had left. He had managed to secrete himself in a crate leaving the tower. The guard had underestimated Anders’ patience and ability to squeeze himself into small places. It was a week of aimless wandering before the Templars realized how he had gotten out, and days later when they final caught up to him.

Attempt number two was far less interesting in that he had practically walked out the door on his fourteenth birthday. He still marveled at the chain of coincidences that had allowed for that. Of course, the guards were also far more vigilant from then on, but the stories down the grapevine were entertaining bedtime stories; after he had gotten out of confinement, that is.

Attempt number five was one of the most unmemorable as a result of a rather…interesting evening involving copious amounts of alcohol. His recollection was still somewhat fuzzy until he the Templars were dunking him on a trough.

The eighth time was when everything changed. He had been caught, and was having his laughs while the humorless Templars hauled him through Vigil’s Keep. It was a strange twist in fate that the darkspawn decided to attack that evening. His escorts were killed, along with most of the other inhabitants of the fortress, leaving him to fend for himself, which he was doing very well. That was when Jarrod Cousland walked in on him turning a group of darkspawn into bubbling heaps.

As far as first impressions went, Anders figured both of them could have done much worse.

A quick introduction and just like that, he was swept along in an effort to retake the Keep. A big mystery landed in their laps (not counting the fact that the darkspawn were still that active after a Blight), he made friends with a funny dwarf that smelled like a brewery, they met a talking darkspawn, killed it, and finished clearing the Keep in time to meet the king and his entourage, which also included, surprise, Templars.

It was Jarrod’s conscription into the Grey Wardens that had kept him out of their hands. To say that Rylock was displeased at an “apostate” go free would have been a gross understatement. The fact that King Alistair had agreed to it had only served to infuriate her more.

For a time, that was that. He followed the Warden-Commander wherever his missions took him. He ran into other strange people, dealt with them in ways varying from paying them, recruiting them, killing them, or scaring them witless by charisma and reputation alone. Of course, if someone swung around a massive greatsword like it was nothing and was physically imposing, even without his armor, Anders probably would have soiled himself if confronted by the man.

But even with his busy, Jarrod always took time to listen to his people. He would help them with their problems, even if they dragged him off the beaten path to do so. When Namaya dropped a lead in Anders’ lap for finding his phylactery, in front of Jarrod no less, they made haste to the location. Of course it was a trap, but what followed only further elevated his opinion of the Warden-Commander. Confronting Rylock and her Templars and slaying them when they failed to back down, he was amazed at Jarrod’s devotion to his companions, among which he had long since been counted.

Then came the invasion, the siege of Vigil’s Keep, and of Amaranthine, its neighboring city. He had been with Jarrod when they saved the city from the darkspawn and certain destruction. He had followed him into the Deep Roads where they slew the Mother, the broodmother responsible for the attack. He was part of the attack that broke the siege of the Vigil’s Keep, and had stood on the ramparts as the defenders celebrated and cheered. He had been a hero then.

Once the celebrations died down, he and the rest of Jarrod’s close companions were able to experience peacetime as a Warden. And then they started going their separate ways. Velanna was reassigned to the north. Nathaniel spent a few years at the Vigil, the place that had once been his home, before traveling the lands as a recruiter. Oghren was sent away before he could drain the Keep’s liquor stores, the Dwarf’s expertise in the Deep Roads sorely needed elsewhere. Sigrun had left, leaving a letter saying that she had gone on her Calling, despite being a Warden for only three years. It was something everyone found suspicious, but could never follow up on to confirm. Even with the help she had received, Sigrun was still a Legionnaire of the Dead; peace would never really suit her.

Then Jarrod had left. A personal quest that he had taken no one with him for, save for his mabari war hound. It was weeks when a letter was finally delivered, in Jarrod’s handwriting, nominating a successor to his position as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.

Anders had only heard about it afterwards, as he had left earlier than anyone. Justice’s previous host was a corpse, and far along in its state of decay. Anders had offered to take up the job, conspiring with the spirit he had become friends with in order to bring justice to every child stolen from their families. It was a good idea, a noble crusade.

It was something they never should have done.

Anger and resentment had festered into Anders soul, covered with a veneer of humor and sarcasm. When he became the spirit’s host, it warped him, and by extension, Anders himself. Where there was once Justice, Vengeance had taken hold, a spirit corrupted by the trappings of a mortal too naïve to realize how wrong things could go on the first step.

The Wardens realized what he had done almost immediately. A Templar who had joined the ranks to keep an eye on him caught him right after the act. A dozen Wardens of all backgrounds who had survived multiple forays into the Deep Roads and a score of Templars, all against one abomination. It was a slaughter.

Now an abomination _and_ a deserter, Anders put as much distance as he could from his former friends, keeping himself as far away from anything to do with the Grey Wardens. Those efforts landed him in Kirkwall.

In a month, he was running a small clinic in Darktown, the seedy underbelly of the city. Word spread, whispers of what he could do, and rumors of who he was. He expected to be attacked by Templars, or stupidly pious vigilantes. Maybe even the Grey Wardens would come to haul him back or execute him. Instead, he got a former smuggler and aspiring businessman, and all he really wanted was a map Anders had stolen from a Grey Warden who had passed through the city. A deal was struck, a favor for a favor: aid in the escape of a mage he was in contact with, and the map and all its notations would be his.

That was the first of his dealing with Aedahn Hawke, and it would not be the last.

The mission went south as soon as they went into the Chantry. Karl had already been made Tranquil, stripped of all emotion and magical ability, and had been set as the bait for a trap for Anders. The Templars that ambushed them got to experience the wrath of Vengeance, and Hawke and his companions bore witness, both to his demonstration and his euthanizing of Karl.

Despite this, instead of putting as much distance between himself and the abomination at the first opportunity, Hawke accepted him into his merry band, regularly calling on his services. It was a strange group, one constantly fraught with arguments and sarcasm.

Yes, Anders had made friends. Varric was always down for a couple of drinks, some games, and wild stories of varying validity. Bethany, Aedahn’s sister, was another mage, one who had never been part of the Circle of Magi, and had a life Anders had wished he had: a loving family who stood by her and shielded her to the best of their ability. And Isabela was…Isabela.

On the other hand, there was Fenris, an elf was such an enmity with anything relating to mages that the only thing keeping him and Anders from killing each other was Hawke. After him, there was Merrill, to whom he ascribed to representing every negative thing that people associated with mages: blood magic and dealing with demons with abandon. The only thing she never did was human sacrifice, though sometimes Anders was sure that if it was the only thing needed in restoring the Dalish people, she would have done it in a heartbeat. Her sweet demeanor made it all rather jarring. Sebastian was too devoted to the Chantry, and would support whatever decision the Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander Meredith made. He was the most disturbed by Anders’ bombing of the Chantry. And on the mild of end things, he and Aveline never saw eye to eye. Her dedication to the law, including the ones applied to mages, was a source of contention between the two of them.

Even with the numerous disagreements, Hawke always kept them together in a strange semblance of a family. Not once did they try to kill one another in earnest, nor did the Templars ever come stomping to the doors of the clinic. Anders thought Jarrod had done well by keeping his people in line, but he never heard anything remotely relating to the squabbles Hawke’s crew got into on an almost daily basis.

After the debacle that was Karl’s “rescue”, Anders fully expected Hawke to ditch him after he got the map, but instead, he allowed Anders to come along for his expedition to the Deep Roads. As much as Anders hated being anywhere close to those tainted highways, it had been a stroke of good fortune for him to come along when Bethany, who had also tagged along, began to succumb to the darkspawn corruption. The long path they were forced to take after Bartrand’s betrayal exposed her to the taint for too long. Being a Grey Warden, it made sense that Anders was immune, but he never understood how the others escaped unscathed.

Hawke pleaded with Anders, all but begging him to find the Grey Wardens, even after the warnings that he would probably never see Bethany again. After finding Stroud, it had taken some convincing, but in the end, Bethany was set to become a Grey Warden. It was not a cure, strictly speaking, but it would save her from the Circle, and postpone the inevitable by a few decades, provided that the darkspawn did not get to her first.

Returning to Kirkwall, Hawke spent the next couple of years rebuilding his family’s fortune, no small thanks to their findings in the expedition. With a sudden abundance of free time, Anders began spending more time with the mage underground. Between the visits he and Hawke made to the Gallows, the Circle of Kirkwall, and Anders’ own visits, he gained a unique insight to the running of the place. He made contacts, helped smuggle items in and people out, and thwarted Otto’s plot to make every mage Tranquil. It felt good, but it was never quite enough for Justice, not enough for Vengeance, and ultimately, Anders agreed. Something drastic had to be done, and a number of plans were hypothesized and discarded for one reason or another.

The Qunari helped to that end. Their squatting in the Kirkwall docks had set the locals on edge, none more so than certain members of the Chantry, who saw the Qunari as a threat and test to their faith. Even with the constant provocation, it was years before the Arishok finally had had enough and attacked the city. By the end of the day, the Viscount of Kirkwall had been slain, leaving the balance of power at a precarious equilibrium. On the plus side, Hawke was named Champion for defeating the Arishok in personal combat and had won considerable popularity with the nobility.

Meredith assumed the “temporary” leadership of the city, much to the ire of both the nobles and First Enchanter Orsino, both wanting Hawke to take the reins. The Knight-Commander’s increasingly erratic and tyrannical behavior pushed even some of the most devout Templars and Chantry adherents into conspiring against her, and the mages, on whom the chains continued to tighten, were chomping at the bit for the chance to lash back at their oppressors. A perfect powder keg, with only two inhibitors.

Grand Cleric Elthina was always quick to neutralize any argument between the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander. She would promote compromise, and trust that the Maker would take care of everything. It seemed asinine, but somehow, she helped keep the peace.

Hawke was already at odds with Meredith, even though he tried to be reasonable with everyone. The nobles had made it no secret that they disliked her, and Hawke, being both Champion and of a prestigious noble line, was a natural choice to take the Viscount’s seat, which Meredith continued to stonewall at all costs, paranoid that the mages were plotting something. Further aggravating things was that Hawke, while generally neutral, had a slight leaning to pro-mage. However, he too played the peacekeeper, or in some cases, the peacemaker.

The middle ground needed to be erased, and Anders had a way to do it.

Lying directly to his friend’s face, Anders gathered the ingredients necessary for the construction of a bomb. After some crafting, and pouring no small amount of magic into the device, he then smuggled it into the Chantry, again, with Hawke’s unwitting help. It sat there for less than a week before the opportune time came to set it off.

Meredith was on another one of her rampages, though it was far worse than usual, locking down the Gallows and demanding it be searched from top to bottom, believing Orsino to be harboring blood mages. Hawke arrived to intervene, but could gain no ground from the two obstinate leaders. Meredith even tried using Hawke’s mother’s death, the act of a lunatic mage, to sway him to her side. When Orsino tried to bring his complaints to the Grand Cleric, Anders made his move.

Activating the bomb, he spent its charging time tearing apart both sides’ stances. Hawke was the first to realize what was about to happen. He always did have a knack for sniffing out trouble.

“There can be no half-measures,” Anders had told his friend. “There can be no turning back.”

Someone more removed from things would have found the fireworks hauntingly beautiful. Those within the city would have argued differently when the gathering cloud of debris exploded, showering the city with flaming rubble. Fires spread quickly, and countless people died before they ever knew what was happening.

“There can be no peace.”

That was when Anders began to fall apart in earnest. Yet even with the culprit sitting right in front of them, Meredith called for the Right of Annulment, the mass execution of every mage in Kirkwall.

_“I demand that you stand with us. Even you can see that this outrage cannot be tolerated.”_

For someone typically given to humor, it was shocking to hear Hawke bluntly turn her down.

_“Think carefully, Champion. Stand with them and you will share their fate.”_

Bow drawn, he aimed an arrow at Meredith’s head, steel in his eyes.

_“I can live with that,” _he answered, dead serious.

Not wanting a battle that she could not win, the Knight-Commander withdrew to gather her forces, while the mages went to fortify the Gallows, both leaving Anders’ judgment to Hawke.

The look of betrayal on Hawke’s face ate Anders up inside. Hawke had understood his reasons. He and his family had gone through incredible lengths to keep his father and his sister out of the circle, and thus sympathized with Anders. The point of contention was that he had unknowingly played a role in setting off a war.

Hawke had always tried to see the best in people, even if more often than not he was disappointed. It did not stop him from trying to do right, so he decided to have Anders help clean up his own mess. That was when Sebastian lost it.

Elthina had been his mother figure when his family left him on the Chantry’s doorstep, and was an anchor after they were murdered. Sebastian demanded Anders execution in recompense for Elthina’s death. When Hawke refused, he stormed off, threatening to finally claim his place as the Prince of Starkhaven for the sole purpose of raising an army and marching on Kirkwall.

Saving that problem for a later time, Hawke gathered his remaining companions, all of whom, despite their concerns, followed the Champion of Kirkwall to the Gallows in order to defend the mages.

The battle was bloody, and in an ironic twist of fate, Orsino turned out to be the blood mage that Meredith was looking for. What’s more was that he was connected to the death of Leandra Hawke’s murder. Hawke’s reaction was hardly surprising, stomping Orsino’s mutated head and repeatedly stabbing it.

Tired, Hawke tried once again to get Meredith to back down. Her reaction was unsurprising, but the reason behind it was.

Anders recalled the red lyrium idol Bartrand had spirited out of the Deep Roads when he betrayed Hawke and Varric. He remembered how it drove the dwarf insane. Yet Meredith decided to make a weapon out of the thing and carried it with her at all times, thinking herself of a stronger mind and will. She was wrong.

Dead wrong.

When Hawke and his companions left the Gallows, Meredith was a petrified corpse, the result of drawing on her weapon’s power too much in the final clash with almost everyone; Hawke, his friends and allies, and even the Templars who had refused to follow along with her madness. The battle had practically torn the Gallows apart, no small part due to Meredith’s actions, and recognizing and acknowledging Hawke’s strength and that of his allies, Knight-Captain Cullen stepped aside to allow them to leave.

Putting as much distance between themselves and Kirkwall, Hawke led his friends into the wilderness of the Free Marches. Every one of them were now wanted by the Chantry and none of them wanted to be in Kirkwall when the Templar Order showed up in force. It was a week later when Anders left in the night. No goodbyes or notes.

Snapping out of his reverie, Anders realized that the sun was coming up again. Echoes of his encounter with the mages rang in his mind, which he allowed to linger as he got up to go about his day. He was beginning to walk out of his makeshift camp when he was practically ambushed by another one of his tails.

“They’ll never listen to you,” he said. A man emerged from the forest, wearing dark colored robes and staff across his back. A mage.

“I already knew that,” Anders replied.

“Of course you did,” the mage said, skeptical. “That’s why you walked into the heart of their camp; so you could be ignored.”

“My actions have always done a better job speaking for me. Now why have you and your friends been following me for the past week?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re here to offer you a place. One that those other fools denied you.”

Anders paused.

“Why would you want to recruit me?” Anders asked.

“Unlike those close-minded fools, we see the value in you, your tenant, and your reputation, the last of which is a more damaging of a weapon than a score of mages.”

“Isn’t that so?” Anders was disliking the man the more he talked.

“They fear you. They fear Hawke. Because all you would have to do to make their lives more difficult is call our scattered brethren, and then we’d have an army. Properly organized, we could carve through their lines and shatter their resolve. And if we can get Hawke to vouch for us, the more people we can draw to our cause.”

Anders stared at the mage. His staff was still on his back, either a sign of trust or an act of stupidity.

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” he said.

“We are the Mage Citizenry, those who will build a world where mages are free. As for myself, you may call be Davyid.”

Not caring for the posturing of the man, he squinted an eye. There was something…off about him. Considering he had been to the Deep Roads, met the Architect, had spent years mucking about Kirkwall alongside Hawke, and was currently playing host to a spirit, that was saying something. Or at least made him sensitive to that sort of thing. He considered walking away, but he wanted to see how far this trail led, if it led anywhere at all.

“Join us,” Davyid continued, holding out his hand. “And we can put an end to the Chantry, the Templars, and anyone else who would deny us our rightful place in the world. What is your answer, Anders?”

Anders took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

_“I am likely to regret this,”_ he thought before giving his answer. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 16-OCT-2019
> 
> As I recall, the purpose of this chapter was to fill in some of the gaps my playthrough for Awakening and II went (as far as Anders was concerned). Also, I added some extra dialogue that wasn’t in the original chapter to kind of mix things up.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given refuge, Anders' new acquaintances hold just as many secrets as he does.

Anders followed Davyid, much like he had done for Cutter. Only this time, the person he was following, even while concealing himself, was confident in every step. He wove through the brush gracefully like a wild cat, disturbing little in his wake. They went like this throughout the day, taking only short breaks, and not very many at that. When dawn had come, Anders recognized some of the landmarks in the distance. In the light of the sun, he noticed how much the leader looked like a ghost. His blond hair was practically white, and his skin was not much better. Conversely, his brown eyes had a certain inhuman quality, standing out among the pale features.

“We are close,” said Davyid. “Just beyond the way.”

The entrance was nestled in the side of a hill, with some bushes to mark the spot, except as they walked up, Anders did not see an opening, just a meager depression. Davyid kept walking forward, disappearing into with a ripple.

_So that’s how they did it, _Anders thought as he followed Davyid into the cave.

They descended through a labyrinth, spotting a pair sentries here and there along the way. The smell of people living grew

Here, there was a warmer community. He could see mages practicing their skills, not entirely unlike the way they would have back in the Circle, only here, there was not the ever-present fear of the Templars. No threat of abuse, execution, or worse. If something went wrong, it would be up to other mages to put them down. People protecting those they cared about

_Or am I deluding myself, _Anders thought. The whole setup seemed all too perfect when he looked at it. Too showy. _What’s your game, Davyid?_ Led to a rise in the shelter, Davyid presented Anders to the community. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of a new world, I present to you our hero: the Great Inciter of the Rebellion.”

Gasps of shock gave way to scattered applause, which swelled with enthusiasm into a veritable crescendo. It was a reaction Anders did not recall ever getting since the Architect incident back in Ferelden.

“He has been through many trials since Kirkwall, running from the Templars, shunned by our brethren. I urge you to welcome him as one of us, for without him, we would not be where we are today.” The crowd cheered, chanting Anders’ name as Davyid led him aside. “We have nothing to immediately accomplish at the moment. I recommend resting or perhaps familiarizing yourself with the others. A great many of them would like to meet you.”

“I will be sure to look into that.”

“Before we get ahead of ourselves.” Davyid turned out to the dispersing assembly. “Elmont,” he called out.

“Yes, sir,” a greasy haired young man said, stopping among the passing crowd. He looked somewhat weedy, or perhaps wiry.

“Please show Anders around.”

“O-of course,” Elmont replied.

The boy kept glancing over his shoulder, though his dark hair frequently obscured his vision. He obviously wanted to say something, but held off.

_Might as well get a feel for my surroundings, _Anders thought. “Thank you for showing me around. I haven’t seen this many circuitous paths since the Deep Roads.”

“I really suppose I should thank you,” the boy replied.

“Thank me?”

“Yeah, with the whole rebellion. You and Hawke really did well by us, from what I hear.”

Anders wanted to correct him. The boy was far to enamored with the hero that he was purported to be, instead of put off by the monster he actually was. _Likely stories pumped to an isolated community, _Anders thought. Once again, for the, as he could recall, ninth time in the last hour, Anders wondered why he had not simply ditched Davyid.

“How do you figure?”

Elmont paused. “This way, I’ll get to actually raise a family. I’ll get to see my children grow up without looking over their shoulder at every noise. I can build a home somewhere and pass it on to my children, and their children. I won’t worry that someone will come and take my child away just for using something they were born with.”

_Naïve and idealistic, but a more earnest soul than what I was expecting._

“Come on,” Elmont continued. “We’re almost there.” They rounded the corner, coming upon some apartments carved from stone. Definitely not something done by the dwarves, but still sturdy, and above all, simple. Anders was given a place to himself. A bedroll was tucked neatly in the corner and a light dimly illuminated the space, but otherwise, it was empty. “Sparse lodgings, I’m sure,” Elmont apologized, “but it’s warm, dry, and Aunt Padda has some amazing cooking you should try when you get the chance.

“It will be more than sufficient,” Anders replied.

“She’s not really our aunt, by the way; we just call her that. Here, I’ll take you to meet everyone.”

Elmont led Anders through the tunnels of apartments and into what he presumed was a common area. Throughout the large cavern, a few campfires were scattered around, the smaller ones attended by three or four people , while the largest had upwards of a dozen, all mostly comprised of children, adolescents, and the elderly. A middle aged woman tended to the large pot simmering over the fire, who Anders guessed was Aunt Padda. She had maybe a few grey hairs and some age lines, but looked maybe ten years older than him at the most.

“Hey everyone,” Elmont called out. “I brought someone for you to meet.” Padda was the first to react.

“So this is the one we keep hearing about,” said Padda. “Or at least one of them. I honestly thought you'd be taller than this, what with all the stories making the rounds.”

“If you heard tales about my being seven feet tall,” Anders replied, “I guess I should blame Varric. He always did have a thing for tall tales.” It took a small chorus of sycophant chuckles for him to realize the pun he had made. Padda raised an amused eyebrow.

“From what I heard, it was Hawke that made most of the jokes.”

“Him or Varric.”

Elmont perked up when someone else approached the fire. The girl had curly brown hair and soft brow Fereldan. She wore robes, not entirely dissimilar to the ones he had seen in the past, and had a cloak over it.

“Ilya!” he called. “Come sit with us, love. This is Anders.”

Ilya nearly flinched at the mention of his name. To her credit, she didn't run away.

“What is it, love?” Elmont asked.

“Don't worry about it. I've gotten used to it, and it’s the least I deserve it.”

Elmont looked confused.

“I'm not sure what Davyid has been telling you, but starting the rebellion wasn't a pretty event. It took betraying a close friend and spilling of innocent blood to make it happen. And I’m guessing Ilya has probably heard some of the other parts of the story. This isn't a glorious war, this is a struggle for our survival.”

“Ilya, could you get the others?” Padda asked. “Dinner is almost ready.”

Hastily standing up, the girl left as quickly as she could.

“How long?” Anders asked.

“What?”

“She's pregnant, I'm asking how much longer?”

“Early autumn, I think.” Elmont replied.

“How old are you anyways?” Anders asked.

“Nineteen.”

Anders blinked. “I thought you were younger. You're older than Jarrod was when he became a Grey Warden.”

“I always liked reading the tales of the Hero of Ferelden. The stories always seemed so impossible. I wish I could do things like that, change the world, and inspire thousands. I just don't think I'm strong enough."

“Don't be so quick to sell yourself short. Jarrod Cousland did many things, but rarely did he do them alone. And he got his start when he was not much older than you. Hawke was even younger when he started getting into trouble. You might be closer to that then you realize.”

Elmont smiled, but Anders was not finished.

“It would not be an easy journey. I've had the opportunity to travel with both of them, and they both suffered great hardships before ever gaining any sort of recognition. Just keep doing what you're doing. Protect your friends and family to the best of your ability, the rest will most likely come to you later.”

-¤¤-

Polite as the most people were, Anders still felt distant. It was hard enough letting Hawke and the others get close after leaving the Wardens. With what he had seen and experienced, he might as well have been from another planet. The real problem were some of the babysitters, “war mages” as Davyid called them.

At all hours, Anders could find one waiting outside his door, waiting to ask him questions. He had been on a raid with a few of them. Nothing major, but all the time, he could tell that one was keeping an eye on him at all times. Anytime that Anders went somewhere he was not supposed to, one or two would direct him away.

A week. That was how long it took for things to go south.

Earlier that morning, Davyid had entered the commons, followed by his warriors.

“Anders, Elmont,” he called out. “I need to you for an errand.”

“What is it?” Elmont asked eagerly.

“There is a village that has been helping us. We haven’t heard anything for some time. We’re going to see what went wrong, and help them if possible.”

All which led them to where they were now. Blood and ashes, but no bodies. To Anders, the smell of sulfur barely registered. However, the scene reminded him of the Vigil when he had first met Jarrod. That was an unholy mess as it was.

“What happened here?” Elmont asked, stunned by the sight.

“Not entirely sure, apart from the obvious. I can make a guess.”

“They were attacked because they helped us,” said Davyid, suddenly appearing with two of his men flanking him. “The Templars are quite adamant that any who sympathize with our cause are to be purged. This is why we must fight. Fight for our freedom or die in the process."

Anders looked around, trying not to sigh. Davyid was giving him the creeps, and considering he had been to the Deep Roads, met the Architect, had spent years mucking about Kirkwall, and was currently playing host to a spirit, that was saying something. Maybe it was paranoia, or maybe he had been around Fenris for too long, which was really any length of time as far as Anders was concerned. Still, he could not dismiss the notion outright, especially since it was what he was thinking when he first met the man.

_Let's test a theory..._ Kneeling down, Anders rested his hand on the ground, feeling the ambient energy. It was a skill he had learned because of Justice, but because most of the time, the cause of whatever Jarrod of Aedahn ran into was typically obvious. _That can't be good._ The difference between attacks conducted by mages and Templars were as different as night and day.

“Where are the pyres?” asked Elmont.

_Good. I'm not the only one who noticed that._

Davyid quickly glanced at Elmont, who was not paying him any attention, then his eyes locked onto Anders, fixing him with a glare. Unfortunately for the leader of the Mage Citizenry, it was weak compared to the looks Anders had received in the past. _And it seems you don’t like that. _The leader’s gaze quickly softened and he turned away.

Then an earsplitting screech filled the air.

“What was that?” Elmont worriedly asked.

“Trouble,” Anders answered. _I think some of Jarrod’s and Aedahn’s luck rubbed off on me._

In what could be best described as a cross between ambling and trotting, mangled corpses emerged from the broken buildings. Spells pelted their assailants, wiping them out in droves.

“Maker,” Elmont gasped. “Are these the people that lived here?!”

“I would assume so,” Anders replied, turning another cluster of the creatures to ash.

“There were over two hundred people living here.”

“Then I would also assume that there were over two hundred of these things. Don’t let up.”

Davyid swept an inferno across the street, catching most of the monsters in the heart of the spell. Elmont recoiled as a wave of heat washed over him.

“Hold nothing back,” Davyid said, stalking off to poke through the ruins. “Stephan, take everyone else back. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

Stephan nodded and signaled the others to follow. Returning to the caves, everyone quickly dispersed. Elmont's head lung low, disappointed in their apparent failure. Anders stopped just past the entrance.

_Something doesn't smell right here, _Anders thought. Walking to his apartment, he carried his staff in hand, getting more than a few strange looks from his neighbors. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His suspicions were confirmed when Elmont came running up to him.

“Have you seen Ilya?” he asked.

“Has this happened before?” Anders asked back.

Elmont scratched the back of his head. “We had some episodes where people went missing in the caves, but we always found them before too long. Davyid would have a look at them and they would be fine afterwards.”

“Someone's kidnapping our people while we're away,” another mage said. “Surely Davyid would have noticed.”

“Oh, I'm sure he knows,” Anders said, darkly.

“What are you implying?” Elmont’s tone was a mixture of accusation and concern.

“I'll just say that anyone who is jumping at the chance to recruit a known abomination is not someone you generally want to be associated with. We need to take this carefully when we confront him.”

“Confront him? What do you mean an-” Another arrival interrupted Anders before he could answer.

Padda looked concerned. “I had a look around,” she said. “Soontir is also missing.”

“That makes two people currently missing,” Anders thought aloud. “Those people who disappeared. Are they all battle-mages now?” Elmont blanched in dawning realization. 

“Maker preserve us,” Elmont muttered. “That means Stephan, Orina-“

“Yes.”

“This…this isn’t what I wanted.”

Anders smacked the young man upside the head. “Get a hold of yourself. While I doubt we’ll be able to save all of them, we save who we can and eliminate those who can’t.”

“And Davyid…”

“He’s most likely the furthest gone out of all of them. I’m sorry.”

Elmont growled out an unintelligible curse, punching a hole into the cavern wall, a telltale flare indicating the use of a spell. Anders set a hand on Elmont’s shoulder as he rested his head against the wall. “We trusted him! I trusted him with my family, my future…”

“We’ll get them back and put a stop to this. But whatever happens, if it looks like it is going to come down to a fight, run and find a solid structure to hide behind.”

“But-”

“No! I know you want to save the others, especially Ilya and your child, but if it comes to a fight, and you don't follow these instructions, there's a very good chance you won't survive. Have I made that clear?”

Elmont swallowed and nodded.

Approaching the guarded areas he had been directed away from before, Anders let out a sleep spell at the two guards. Both fell unconscious, falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes when the spell slammed into them. Elmont and a number of others walked in behind him, eyeing the unconscious men.

“Have someone keep an eye on them,” Anders ordered. Elmont pointed to two of his fellows, who stayed back, keeping their eyes and staves trained on the guards while everyone else continued forward.

The tunnel opened up into a cavern of peculiar symmetry, centered around a raised platform that was higher than Anders was tall. At the top, Davyid stood over the unconscious forms of Ilya and Soontir. Eight of his people surrounded the girls and a strange dome made of grey light pulsed like a heartbeat.

“Good for you to join us, Anders,” Davyid said, not even looking at them. “I figured we would be speaking with each other soon enough.”

“Is that a fact?”

“You are one of the few who understands our cause. You championed it for years, actively working towards the freedom of mages all over the world.”

“And those villagers?”

“You of all people know that victory cannot be achieved without sacrifice.”

Anders scoffed. “You know, you did say that we had a lot in common. After spending time with you, I think I have realized in what manner you were right, abomination.” There was a pregnant pause, the room falling into a dead silence, everyone too stunned to really react.

“So very smart,” Davyid said, his voice an unnatural distortion. With a snap of its fingers, the abomination’s minions took up position behind their master. Turning around, Davyid looked at the mages the intruders, his unblinking gaze forcing them to begin backing away, or outright run for cover. “You should have kept your nose out of this, boy.”

“I think you forgot that this was your idea to bring me here in the first place,” Anders replied.

“Oh, fine,” he said finally. “Have it your way.” With another snap of his fingers, “Davyid’s” minions readied their staves, more emerging from the shadows, and dove into combat.

Swinging his staff out, Anders cut down the closest of his assailants. Their bodies were knocked around like ragdolls. Vengeance joined in the fray, rending their opponents’ apart. Neither the spirit nor his host saw them as much of a challenge, until one slashed his hand open and reached for them. At first, Anders was staggered. When he heard chanting, he redoubled his efforts and blasted the offending thrall off his feet, crushing his ribcage on itself before he could finish his spell, whatever it was.

All went quiet. More than twenty bodies littered the cave. With haste, Anders burned the remains, hoping to deny a curious or malevolent spirit from laying claim to the surplus of mage corpses, especially “Davyid”. Cracking his neck, he turned his attention to the other abomination.

“If I were to make a guess,” Anders said. “You would be classified as a desire demon, or perhaps pride.”

The abomination laughed, dismissing the dome and hopping down the steps in a single leap without breaking stride.

“Hardly. I am something far greater. You foolish mortals are the ones who came up with those categories, and while I admit that most others do fall into those quaint categories, you have barely scratched the sur-“ A lance of pain set the abomination howling.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said, entirely unapologetic. “But I have better things to do with my time than rehash old arguments with you.”

“You insect!”

“Yes, I know. You plan to swear a horrible death upon me. Just shut up and die.”

The air around the “Davyid” bristled, but it was not fast enough to counter Vengeance’s attack, blasting off a hunk of demon’s host. Instead of healing the damage, the demon transformed the vessel, revealing a monstrous form.

“You dare?" it roared. "I am Ambition! I am-” . A sudden slash of arcane energy split the creature apart.

“-dead,” Anders countered. _Great, now I sound like someone from one of Varric’s writings._ The demon could not hold its host together and began to succumb mortality along with it.

“No!” it shouted. “We can work together, accomplish so much more.”

“You would turn me into another of your puppets, or try to steal my power for yourself. No, you die here.”

"Not without you!" Reaching to his surviving minions, Ambition wrenched them apart, draining them of blood. The fractures on his form stitched back together and he flew at Anders with a roar of fury, flinging astreaming fire spell. Vengeance lashed out with a counterstrike, a blast of raw arcane energy, sending Ambition to whatever fate awaited his kind upon death and launching his disintegrating remains through the roof of the cave.

As the dust settled, Elmont and the other emerged from their hiding places. When it was obviously clear, Elmont made for the dais. Checking her vitals and running some diagnostic spells on both Ilya and Soontir, he sighed in relief. Everyone else, however, remained on edge. The display of both Vengeance and their combined power had truly been a sight to behold. Now everyone knew. Some looked like they were ready to run. Others looked ready for a final stand.

“Stand back, fiend!” one warned, raising his staff in a quivering hand.

“Don't worry about him, Kodan,” said Elmont. “He's not our enemy.”

“What about the-”

“I remember the stories of how the Hero of Ferelden fought alongside a mage inhabited by a spirit.” Standing tall, Elmont turned to face them. “An abomination is an abomination because of how one acts, not simply by working with a spirit of the Fade."

Anders felt ashamed being defended by the young man, but was grateful nonetheless.

“I see that my presence worries you,” Anders said “so I will go my own way from here on. I will leave you with this: the time for unity is now, but I am not the one to facilitate it. Look to another to lead you to war, and to victory.” With that, Anders walked away. The remnants of the Mage Citizenry looked at each other.

"What do we do now?" Kodan asked.

“Get the word out,” Elmont commanded. “We need to leave as soon as possible. Someone is bound to have seen the light show.”

“Where are we going?”

“We need to find others. Anders has seen some of them, and I am sure there are more to be found. If there was one thing Davyid was right about, we need to fight for our freedom or die in the attempt.”

Standing at the mouth of the new opening he had created, Anders pleasantly smirked. Maybe redemption was too far from him, but that would not stop him from trying. He knew where he needed to go. He had to go back to where it all started.

He needed to go back to Kirkwall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Updated as of 16-OCT-2019.
> 
> At some point, probably once I finish this project in its entirety, I really want to come back and completely rewrite everything. There are plenty of moments here and in Requiem (and in Revolution) that needed some time to build up and expand before the payout. For now, I'll have to settle for simply getting this written.
> 
> Anywho, I added another chapter (an epilogue, really) to this installment, reinstating an idea I originally had carried into the production cycle, since this site's format is more accommodating for such a thing.


	5. The Gathering Storm

In a cavern deep beneath the surface Thedas, a lone scientist worked furiously in his lab. Outside were his bodyguards, watching for potential threats that had the tendency to crop up ever since the first darkspawns incursion on the land.

Most of them were what had become known as Disciples; darkspawn that had ingested the blood of Grey Wardens. A few were of the standard darkspawn variety.

The only anomaly among his companions was the lone elven ghoul standing with her arms crossed over her chest and a dwarven greatsword strapped to her back. Her cold glare was focused and vigilant, her loyalty was unquestionable. They were not very talkative companions, but they were effective at their jobs.

A gust of wind blew through the caves, disturbing some of the lighter items strewn about the lab and blowing out the torches. If it had not been for his centuries of being underground, the scientist might have been blind, even with his condition and talents.

Noting the disturbance, the scientist’s protectors moved to ready themselves for an imminent assault while he bound his long, wispy grey hair out of his face and pulled both halves of his staff from their sheathes. The magical foci had been split a long time ago, but was now rejoined by a mechanical apparatus the scientist had designed.

But instead of a massive assault, only three figures walked into the room.

One was a human, wearing battered armor and showed signs of being a ghoul. The other two were elves, but so incredibly different it was astonishing. The young woman of roughly average height with a slight build and carried a staff, a mage without any doubt. The male was a juggernaut, standing well over eight feet tall, muscular, but not bulky, and had an intimidating presence that was exuded throughout the cave.

Rather than attack, the Disciples and other darkspawn under the scientist’s control instinctively retreated out of the path of the newcomer and his companions. The elven ghoul on the other hand, was not so inclined, practically flying across the room with her sword in hand.

The human ghoul met her halfway, crossing swords with his opposite number. Landing on a table, the human delivered a kick to the elf’s midsection. He was preparing to continue the assault when an oppressive wave fell on the room. Hopping down, he returned to the juggernaut’s side, bowing his head in penitence.

“My apologies, Master,” he said.

“What do you want?” the scientist challenged.

The taller elf merely looked down at the comparatively tiny human with his deep red eyes. “I am looking for allies, those who wish to see a new era, a new world,” the elf said with a deep voice that made the stone around them vibrate. “I happened to notice your presence on my way to the surface. Do you mind telling what you are doing?”

The scientist winced at the sudden calm the Master was showing, but shrugged it off. It had been a long time since he had a proper conversation.

“I have been researching a way to remove the taint,” he said.

“And what progress have you made?”

The scientist wrung his hands together. “So far, I have halted its progression, but it still remains. The taint is quite resistant to any attempt to eradicate it.”

“I see,” the Master replied. “You are not a ghoul. Are you perhaps a Grey Warden?”

“Yes, but how is that relevant?”

“I, too, seek to remove the taint in a permanent fashion, and I am gathering allies to assist me in this endeavor. You carry with you something unique that should prove to be very useful in the future.” The Master paused, staring as if peering into the scientist’s soul. “I see that you are hesitant. Perhaps I should show you what I have to offer.” The Master left the lab, beckoning his followers and the scientist to follow. Being led into the larger cavern, he saw what looked to be a dragon, but more majestic and far more powerful.

It took a moment for him to recognize it as an Archdemon.

“Do not worry,” the Master said, anticipating his thoughts. “He is not like his brethren you Grey Wardens have faced over the years.”

“One of the Old Gods,” the scientist gasped. It had been a long time since he had been this surprised. The scientist’s narrowed his eyes at the Master. No one alive would know of him. Four hundred years had made him forget even his own name. All that was left was his unyielding will and vague memories of the Circle, being a blood mage, and his time with the Wardens when they dealt with the fourth blight. Curiosity, however, overcame apprehension.

“Who are you?” the scientist asked.

The Master gave him a blank look. A vague sense of mirth glinted behind his red eyes.

“I?” He intoned. “I am that which stands at the end of all things.”

-¤¤-

**End of Isolation.**

**Prepare for the Revolution.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And that’s a wrap for Isolation. As you can see, you got quite a bit of exposition along the way despite its short run. This hopefully gave you a general idea of how my playthroughs of Origins, Awakening, and II all went, and restored whatever hope you had lost in Requiem (I promise I’m not always that evil). 
> 
> This was originally going to be one of a 3-5 part prologue (the beginning of Anders’ POV in chapter one), but like the other parts, it grew out of its original bounds, requiring a separate story, which continued to grow and required a few rewrites, additions, and whatnot, making it take longer than I would have liked.
> 
> Isolation clocks in just under 13,000 words, which technically puts it at the length of a novella. Requiem clocked in at +36,000 words, reaching the upper length of a novelette. Collectively, we are now pushing well into novel-length territory (as far as Wikipedia is concerned; other sources say differently), and this is just part two. 
> 
> With that out of the way, now it’s time to head over to Tevinter. For you fans of Fenris: rejoice. Your favorite brooding elf is making a return.
> 
> Updated as of 16-OCT-2019

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Updated as of 27-SEP-2019
> 
> As with Requiem, the extent of editing I am going to do is adjusting some formatting along with some spelling and grammar checks.


End file.
